


EMBERS IN THE NIGHT

by AgnesClementine



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: A tiny drabble in which Len and Mick roast marshmallows.





	EMBERS IN THE NIGHT

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little scene I wrote, literally, nothing happens.
> 
> Enjoy and comment!

Len bypassed the skeletons of rusted metal, air leaving his mouth in exhale in form of white mist. It’s wonderfully chilly, just so that he can feel it. The junkyard is littered with all sorts of things; everything people left behind or threw away found its way here. It’s a graveyard for non- living.

There are no stars visible above the city, light pollution and whatnot, but here, there are millions of twinkling lights, like diamonds, spilled across the sky. Len’s fingers itch to reach out and grasp them in his hands. Moonlight is lighting everything up, rays of silk reflecting off shards of glass and metal surfaces that haven’t yet been eaten away by erosion.

Mick is sitting on an overturned fridge when he finds him, back to him, facing the fire flicking up from the trashcan in front of him. Its flames are curling upwards to swallow up the sky, smother it in black wisps of smoke and rain down ashes. Mick’s eyes are glued to it, hypnotized.

Len sits down next to him, shoves a bag in his hands.

“What the hell is this?” Len is looking at the fire when he says this, but he knows that Mick looked at the content of the bag.

“Marshmallows, Mick. You know, those things you poke on a stick and then put above the fire?” He responds.

Mick grunts and rips open the bag. “And where are the sticks you’re planning to stick them on?” He might sound a bit doubtful, but Len knows that he loves marshmallows as much as Len does. Well, maybe not quite that much; his sister told him on more than one occasion that his love for them is bordering with an obsession. She might be right.

Len grins, produces two wooden sticks from behind his back with a flourish. Mick grunts again and stands up with a sigh.

“Where are you going?”

“To fix the fire. You can’t roast shit on this, it’d burn right away.”

He watches as Mick putters around the flames, adding and shifting things until he deems it suitable for roasting marshmallows. Then the fun begins.

Len holds his above the fire just long enough for it to turn nice, golden shade, while Mick’s catches fire because he wasn’t paying attention. He doesn’t seem to mind, as he pops it in his mouth regardless of burnt, crispy outside.

Len can feel the tension leaving him, exiting his body as fire warms him and the smell of smoke and sugar envelops him as an invisible blanket. Moments like this are the only time when he can breathe properly, with Mick’s presence next to him, pressed side to side and leaning in each other’s space.

He pops another marshmallow in his mouth, chewing and leaning against Mick as his eyes follow the red embers soaring into the night.


End file.
